In the Dark
by Alisha Ashton
Summary: (Part 4 of Clear the Area) When demons make the fatal mistake of attacking and kidnapping you and Sam, Hell hath no fury like a supremely pissed off Dean Winchester. Written so that you can put yourself in the role of the OFC. Set end of S8-ish. Slightly AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker.
1. Rude Awakening

You awaken slowly. You become aware of your surroundings one hazy detail at a time.

_Darkness. Cold. Damp. _

_Silence. _

_Concrete. _

_Someone whispering your name urgently._

_The familiar scent of blood. Pain._

_Oh_ - **pain**.

An involuntary groan escapes your lips. The echo of the sound chases away the fog of unconsciousness. You open your eyes, then blink repeatedly when nothing but blackness fills your vision.

Where the hell are you? The last thing you remember...

You frown.

What _is_ the last thing you remember?

The store.

Ah, okay. You were shopping with Sam. You remember Dean opting out of the trip, saying that he refused to have any part in helping Sam bring 'more of that new-age health-nut vegan _crap_' into the bunker.

You made it through the checkout line. You were on your way out to the car...

And then...?

Your eyes widen, despite the absence of light, as flashes of the memory return to you.

_Demons_. A swarm of the bastards. They attacked you both right out in the open, in broad daylight, in the middle of the parking lot. You remember fighting against them, you and Sam each managed to drop a few. But then, there had been a crowbar...

You wince as the throbbing in your head intensifies, seemingly in response to the memory of being used for demonic batting practice.

And now you're here...in the dark...

Your breathing quickens as your heart races, a heavy dose of adrenaline flooding your system in response to your current predicament.

But your fear is temporarily put on hold when you finally register Sam's repeated panicked whispers of your name.

"I'm here, Sam," you answer weakly, relieved beyond measure to hear his voice.

"_Oh, thank God_," he sighs in equally immense relief. "You hurt?" He asks worriedly.

Coming from his direction, you hear the troubling sound of chains dragging across the frigid concrete floor. They have him bound - shackled, most likely. It's the only reason he has not been able to come check on you.

At that realization, you start to push yourself up to a sitting position. You only get part-way through the automatic response of, "No, I'm fine," before an unexpected and _horribly intense_ pain in your left shoulder steals your powers of speech. You somehow manage to suppress a scream, taking a moment to calm yourself before forcing out, "I'm okay."

Sam gives a weak, disbelieving chuckle. "You know, you're a terrible liar."

You laugh in response and try to calm your breathing. "How 'bout you? You hurt?"

"Fine. They rung my chimes pretty good, but it's nothing serious." You can hear him shifting around somewhere off in the darkness, likely testing how much slack he has on his chains now that he knows approximately where you are.

You take comfort in his presence and the sound of his voice. With a heavy sigh, you close your eyes and try to summon enough courage to move again.

"You chained up, too?" He asks before adding worriedly, "And, uh...naked?"

Your eyes snap open and brow furrows. _Huh_. Maybe that's why you're freezing your ass off. Well, that plus the fact that it's cold enough to see your breath - if, you know, you could actually _see_ anything.

"Samuel Winchester!" You gasp in a scandalized (but admittedly weak) tone, though the smirk is plain in your voice. "We get kidnapped and you decide to pass the time by pulling a full-Monty over there?"

"Not by choice, I assure you," he laughs.

You snort in reply. "Let me get back to you," you offer in response to his original questions.

Slowly and carefully, avoiding putting any weight on your shoulder this time, you roll over onto your back. You move your legs and arms experimentally, but find your movements unhindered. You move your right hand down the length of your body, scowling when you find yourself decidedly bare-assed naked.

"No and yes," you answer. "Not chained, but yeah, definitely rocking my birthday suit." You frown and add, "Hey, what kind of sexist shit is that? How come you're enough of a threat to need chaining up, but I'm not?"

Sam chuckles and you can almost hear him shaking his head at you. "I think this is one time when you should embrace sexism." After a moment, he says quietly, "I've uh...been praying to Cas since I woke up, but they must have this place warded. He can't hear us."

You deflate disappointedly. The situation just became even more dire.

Clearing his throat, Sam asks, "So... Miss '_I'm-Fine_'... You wanna tell me what we're really dealing with?"

You huff in annoyance - not at Sam, but at the fact that you really are injured.

"My head's pretty banged up," you grumble reluctantly. "And... I'm pretty sure my shoulder's dislocated."

"Shit." Sam breathes. "You think you can make it over here?"

"In my aforementioned birthday suit? Wow... This is gonna get weird," you joke.

You are only trying cover the true cause for your apprehension, though, because you know that once you do make it over there, Sam is going to reset your shoulder. You have never had it done, personally, but you've seen Sam reset Dean's shoulder in the past and _holy shit_ does it NOT look like fun. Anything that can make Dean cry out like that in pain is officially off of your bucket list.

"And Dean's gonna bust on us about this little adventure in nudism forever," Sam adds with a smile plain in his voice. He knows damned well how nervous you are. "But we have to get out of here alive for him to be able to do it, so hurry up and bring your snarky, bare ass over here."

You crack up at that, groaning slightly when your laughter jostles your injured shoulder.

Grudgingly, you begin the slow, shaky process of getting onto your feet. You aren't exactly thrilled with this situation. Were there any light, the scarlet of your face would make your embarrassment evident.

It's not like Sam hasn't seen you naked before. Hell, he once carried, bathed, and clothed you while you were nude and in shock. But you're fully awake this time around. And you're _both_ fully freaking naked. And it is all kinds of freezing in this - wherever the hell this place is (it feels like a damned meat locker) - which means, if you can't find a way out soon, the two of you are going to be huddled together trying to keep warm. And you both know it. And the likelihood of that eventuality is sitting in the room between you like a giant, awkwardly-naked elephant.

And _oh_, is Dean going to have a field day when he hears about this.

You stand up straight and groan when a wave of serious dizziness and nausea hits unexpectedly.

Sam calls your name worriedly and you hear the chains rattle before coming to an abrupt stop. You know he's trying to reach you, but he does not have nearly enough slack.

"I'm good... I'm good..." you gasp as you try to stay upright, but your voice is shaken and weak even to your own ears.

"What's wrong?" Sam demands and you can almost picture him. (Well, aside from the being naked part, because - despite him seeing you in all your glory in the past - you're wholly unacquainted with his Sasquatch-sized bare-ass). You know he's currently stretched as close as he can get, testing his bonds with renewed urgency and staring unblinkingly in your direction in vain.

Winchesters do not take kindly to one of their own being in distress when they can't do anything to help.

"Just...nauseous. And it feels like I'm on a damned Tilt-a-Whirl," you answer as the room continues spinning.

Sam grunts worriedly in response. "Probably the head wound," he mutters and gives another frustrated, furious, (and unfortunately, useless) tug on his chains.

"Yeah. It could be that," you answer noncommittally. Because it could also be linked to that bold, life-altering, panic-inducing POSITIVE result you got on a test yesterday.

You groan again just thinking about it.

You had planned to take it easy - to put yourself on the bench from hunting and fall back from any action until you could verify the result. There had been _6 freaking pregnancy tests_ in your grocery bag when those bastard demons jumped you.

And did the demons even stop to consider the level of stealth it took to keep those tests hidden from ol' eagle-eyes-Sam? To purchase them in the back of the store, at the pharmacy, and have them hidden inside a paper bag? To smirk and waggle your eyebrows in a Dean-esque fashion when Sam cast a curious look at said bag - effectively making him think it was lube or something equally TMI and grossing him out so that he wouldn't ask any questions?

Answer: NO, they did not. Those inconsiderate, sulfer-stinking SOBs couldn't have picked a worse time to beam you in the skull with a crowbar.

You take a small measure of comfort from the fact that none of your injuries are anywhere near your stomach. But this dizziness and nausea? There's a pretty good chance it's not just from the head injury. Hell, those symptoms were part of the reason you took a test in the first place.

The problem is, you haven't said anything to Dean yet, so you can't tell Sam - right? I mean, you're not even sure whether you really are knocked up. People get false positives sometimes. Right?

And it would only make Sam even more fearful on your behalf. His level of protectiveness would raise from concerned-brother-in-law to Code-Red-Worried-Winchester-Alpha-Male-DEFCON-1 in about two seconds flat.

"Try to get over here to me," Sam urges in barely-concealed panic, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts. "I can't do anything to help you if you pass out over there. And if they come back...?" He trails off, his voice conveying his rapidly increasing level of anxiety. "Just...be careful, but hurry up...keep following the sound of my voice."

You smirk and focus on the surprisingly difficult task of putting one foot in front of the other. "You're not gonna sing, are you?"

"If it'll get you over here faster? I might," he jokes nervously. "But...how about I just talk about how we ended up here? I remember the parking lot. Can't believe these demons jumped us out in broad daylight like that... And so many of them in one place? Not good. Something's up." You swear you can feel his eyes narrowing in on you through the darkness as he says through gritted teeth, "I saw you go down. What'd they use?"

"Crowbar," you manage bitterly while shuffling steadily closer to him.

You can almost hear Sam simultaneously wince and glower furiously. He chooses not to voice his plans for retribution.

"They took me out a minute after you. I think I got a baseball bat, though."

"Lucky," you joke. "How's your head? You bleeding?"

"No. Got a good-sized lump, but I'm not concussed," he answers distractedly. His mind is too busy focusing on your approach and the reason for the demons' attack. He continues as if you never interrupted. "Means they didn't want us dead...yet. I mean, they could have just stabbed us and been done with it. I'm not sure what the point of this is. Why lock us up, take our clothes, and just leave us?"

"Bargaining chips?" You suggest.

"Maybe. Which means they're going to try and use us as leverage over Dean," he says, but abruptly stops talking the instant you're within reach.

You sag into his grasp as he guides you down onto the floor beside him. You try not to be too freaked out when you rest your head on his bare chest. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the unavoidable all-kinds-of-awkward you're about to share with your brother-in-law.

"If that's their plan, they're seriously overestimating Dean's ability to be rational when one of us is in danger...let alone both at the same time," you breathe weakly.

Sam only grunts in agreement. He's fully engrossed in the task of checking your injuries. With careful touches, Sam searches your scalp for the location of the crowbar-collision. You hiss when he finds it. He mutters a quiet, 'Sorry,' but doesn't let it deter him from thoroughly checking the wound.

"Feels like it was bleeding pretty heavily before," he notes.

You have to agree with him there. You can feel the dried blood caked in your hair and down the side of your face.

"It's not bleeding anymore, so at least there's that," he offers.

"Yay," you answer unenthusiastically.

"I don't think it's fractured..." he comments while carefully probing your skull.

You scowl and grumble, "_Feels_ like the damned thing's fractured. Gonna find that demon and shove that crowbar _**so**_ far up its ass, it'll-"

You immediately stop talking when Sam's fingertips brush your shoulder. You flinch and recoil - half from pain, half from fear of what's to come.

"I'm sorry," he insists sincerely. "But I've gotta check it, okay?"

You're glad there isn't any light in that moment, because your bottom lip is sticking out and your eyes are welling up with tears. You just keep hearing Dean - strong, stoic, '_I act like my ribs aren't broken_' Dean - growling and crying out in anguish through gritted teeth when his shoulder was being forced back into its socket. You can still recall the unnatural sound of the joint being reset.

That horrible squishy-crunch-pop...

"_Ugghhh_... Give me a minute or I'm gonna puke," you whine.

Sam rubs your back soothingly and rests his cheek on the top of your head. Naked or not, you're immensely grateful for the comfort. You sigh and lean into the contact, trying to summon your courage.

"This is gonna suck, isn't it?" You whimper pitifully.

You can feel Sam smiling sympathetically against your hair. "Afraid so. But you'll have a great story to tell Dean when we get outta here. We'll tell him you took it like a champ - that you didn't even bat an eyelash. You can tell him you don't see what all the fuss was about last time he had it done."

You laugh at that. "Guess we're gonna need something to bust on him about, considering how bad he's gonna torment us for our naked cuddling."

"True. This is pretty awkward," Sam chuckles.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, but it's helping."

After another few moments, you finally sit up and whisper weakly, "Okay. Do what you gotta do."

Sam is as gentle as possible as he gauges the state of your shoulder by touch alone. He exhales slowly and you know what that means. It's definitely dislocated.

You run through what you've seen the brothers do in the past. You know that Sam will _tell you_ that he's going to count to 3, but he won't. He'll get to maybe 1 and catch you off guard.

This is really, really going to suck.

"Do you need me to move, or-?" You start to ask, but you don't get any further with your question.

Without warning, without giving you the slightest chance to tense up in preparation, Sam uses his vastly superior body mass and giant mitts to maneuver the joint back into position (against its will, mind you).

That dreaded squishy-crunch-pop is infinitely more nauseating when it's your own shoulder making the sound.

The last thing you hear before passing out is your own agonized shriek.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So, what do you think? Hate it? Love it? Want some more of it? ;-) Was Sam in character? Could you imagine everything clearly? Wondering what Dean's reaction is going to be? (_Ooohhh those demons gonna get it!_) Looking forward to the next chapter? Let me know! Feedback from you helps me update faster!


	2. Troubling

Dean is trying to stay calm. Really, he is. But with every unanswered call, each time he hears the recorded greetings of your and Sam's voicemails, his fear and anxiety worsens.

He tries to tell himself that it is nothing. Sam is just having a full-on geek-out over the store's selection of organic produce. You are just devoting the appropriate level of attention to the extremely crucial task of selecting Dean-approved pies, pastries, and other delicious baked goods.

Yeah...that's why you two aren't answering your phones.

Either of you.

At the same time.

After just 5 minutes, Dean says 'screw it' and decides to go with his gut. Hell, that niggling worry was the reason he started calling in the first place. It isn't like you guys are late coming back yet. He just has this bad feeling that he can't shake. He learned long ago to trust these kinds of feelings.

"They ain't answering," Dean announces as he slides his phone in his pocket. He struggles to keep his growing panic at bay as he turns toward Castiel. "Need you to do me a favor, Cas. Do..." He waves his hand, unsure of how to define it. "..._whatever it is _you do...and check on them."

Castiel tilts his head to the side, getting that look of concentration that Dean would typically make a constipation crack about. He is too worried to bother with it this time.

"They on their way back already, or...?" Dean tries hopefully, but trails off when Castiel's expression suddenly turns grave. Dean struggles to keep his fear from his face and voice. He summons every ounce of courage to ask, "What is it?"

"I cannot sense them," Castiel answers worriedly.

Dean swallows hard. "What do you mean? Like...like they're out of range? Or you're being blocked? Or...?" He can't put words to the other possibility.

Castiel frowns apologetically. "I do not know, Dean," he admits. "I simply cannot locate them."

Dean closes the distance between them quickly, abandoning his attempts to mask his worry. "They were at that big store over on Roosevelt. Take me there."

Perks of angel transport - within an instant of Castiel resting his hand upon Dean's shoulder, they are standing behind the store (and away from prying eyes).

"Thanks," Dean offers distractedly before rushing around to the front of the building.

As soon as he turns the corner, his anxiety triples. The scene before him instantly makes his knees weak and stomach roil.

A section of the parking lot has been cordoned off with yellow police-tape. Numerous cop cars are parked around the lot with lights flashing. A crowd is milling around the perimeter, some pointing and talking adamantly, others covering their mouths and shaking their heads. Several officers are collecting witness statements.

"_Please_..." Dean breathes as he forces his feet to keep moving. It is an open-ended plea. A desperate request for the universe at large to show him exceedingly rare mercy.

When he spots the telltale black covers draped over a pair of bodies, his stomach lurches. He freezes in place, terrified to move any closer.

He would probably lose it right there, just give in to the overwhelming desire to drop to his knees and hyperventilate, if not for the steadying hand Castiel places on his shoulder.

"We do not know for certain yet," Cas reminds. "We need to get closer."

Dean struggles to draw a breath and nods choppily.

They cut through the crowd to reach the edge of the police-tape. The bags of groceries spilt out across the asphalt only make Dean's heart clench tighter. A selection of Sam's favored organic fruits and vegetables are among the fallen items, along with a few boxes of those (nasty-ass, cardboard-tasting) protein bars he has recently taken to eating.

_Sammy_...

"Dean." Castiel calls quietly, jarring the stricken man from his dark thoughts and directing his attention to something off to their right.

Another two bodies are covered.

Dean tries to be relieved by this development. Whatever happened, he at least knows that you and Sam were able to put up a fight. Unfortunately, it only makes him more fearful. There are now 4 victims to identify... and any one of them can potentially destroy his world.

Giving himself a mental shake, he tries to work this just like any other case. He turns to the middle-aged woman closest to him.

"What happened here?" He asks.

"Oh, it was just awful," she insists fretfully. "A couple was attacked and abducted."

He feels lightheaded at the rush of relief.

"Abducted?" He repeats. His voice quavers slightly on the word.

_Abducted.  
><em>_Not killed.  
><em>_Not already too late.  
><em>_Oh, thank God_...

"Yes. I can't believe it. They seemed so nice, too. We were all leaving the store at the same time. But then there were all these other men and...they just..." She shakes her head, clearly still rattled from the experience. "They came out of nowhere. And their _eyes_. They were all wearing these black contacts. Looked like devil-worshippers or something. They took them."

Dean's jaw clenches furiously. Demons. Soon-to-be-_very-DEAD_ demons.

"And what about...?" He asks, inclining his head to the covered bodies.

"Oh..." She frowns, struggling to reason through what she saw. "Well, I'm assuming the couple is into self-defense or something. Makes sense. They seemed pretty health-conscious. I mean, who buys _that much_ produce and no red meat?" She asks, motioning to the groceries.

Dean smirks, until he spots the bakery containers in the distance. He swallows hard, knowing that you would have been the one carrying his treasures.

"Probably instructors or something. Martial arts, you know?" She continues, focusing on useless details in the way most people do after witnessing something frightening.

"Could have been military," the man beside her offers. "The base isn't too far from here."

"Oh, right! I didn't even think of that," she replies in intrigue before returning her attention to Dean. "They managed to hold their own for a while, but there were just too many to fight off. The man took out the ones you see with a knife. Didn't do either them much good, though."

"How many attackers were there?" Dean asks, sharing a concerned look with Castiel.

"Lord, I don't know... How many would you say, Tom?" She asks the man beside her.

"Had to be more than twenty," the man - Tom, apparently - replies.

"I'm still holding out hope for those two, though," the woman declares, pulling her sweater tightly around herself and nodding as she tries to remain positive. "They'll get away. They'll survive. Just you watch."

Tom casts her a skeptical look. "They clubbed that girl over the head with a _crowbar_, Helen. Didn't you see all the blood? Took a Louisville slugger to the back of the guy's skull. And I don't care how big he is, a crack like that to the noggin is gonna do some serious damage. Those bastards might not have killed them right here in the parking lot, but with those head injuries alone, they'll be lucky if they live to see-"

Dean has to walk away abruptly. He can't listen to any more. His chest constricts painfully and he fights for a long moment to draw a breath.

He needs to see the bodies. He needs to get a better look at the scene, try to find something - _anything_ - that will tell him who did this and where they may have taken you and Sam.

"Need a badge..." Dean mutters to himself before surveying the rest of the parking lot.

Off in the distance, he finds what he is seeking. The Impala is parked almost as far away from the store as possible. The location is a combined result of him demanding that Sam not park too close to any crazy soccer-Moms, and Sam doing his usual 'work exercise into your day at every opportunity.'

Dean stalks off toward his baby with Castiel following closely behind.

"This is deeply troubling," Cas declares. He opens his mouth to say more, but is quickly cut off.

"Ya think?" Dean snaps back.

Castiel closes his mouth tightly, not wishing to make the situation any worse. He watches the rigid lines of Dean's shoulders. The rapidly increasing tension in his mortal friend's muscles is akin to a coiled spring. Knowing that Dean is barely holding it together as it is, Cas chooses to keep the knowledge of your pregnancy to himself.

Dean fishes the keys from his pocket and opens the front passenger door. He opens the glove compartment, rifling through in search of credentials that will meet his current needs.

He is so involved in the task, it takes him almost a full second to notice the new arrival beside Castiel.

"So, it's true then," Crowley comments as he surveys the scene.

His gravelly words have barely passed his lips before Dean is out of the car and on him.

Crowley grimaces and grunts as he is forcefully slammed against the side of the Impala.

"_Where are they?_" Dean demands furiously.

"Easy on the threads," Crowley warns in a cool tone, despite the promise of violence in Dean's gaze. "This suit is worth more than your eternal soul." He smiles cheekily before adding, "And that's not even an exaggeration."

"What did you do to them?" Dean snarls.

"_Me_?" Crowley scoffs as if the very notion is preposterous. "What ever gave you the idea that I've done something? I'm merely here to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Meaning?" Dean shouts impatiently.

"I'll answer that... _after_ you remove your manly calloused mitts from my person," Crowley flirts with a wink.

Dean glowers in response, but keeps the King of Hell restrained.

Crowley rolls his eyes and sighs. They both know damned well that he could easily toss Dean across the parking lot without moving a muscle, but he allows the hunter his overly-aggressive display.

"Hate to skip the foreplay, darling, but you're drawing unwanted attention." To illustrate his point, Crowley waves to the police officer watching them suspiciously from a distance. "Ello!" He greets with a cheerful smile before looking back at Dean. "Or would you prefer a trip to their station before we can address the problem at hand?"

With a great deal of effort, Dean manages to relax his grip. He cannot, however, resist the urge to give Crowley another hard shove.

"TALK." He orders with a finger pointing dangerously at Crowley's face.

"Happy to," Crowley assures snidely before making a show of smoothing out his suit. "There's a rumor making the rounds down below. Someone's gloating about how they nabbed themselves a Moose and a..." He pauses, giving a crooked smile before finishing purposefully, "_Mrs_. Squirrel. Naturally, I was overwhelmed with concern - being as how we've all become so terribly close."

"Who? _Who_ took them?" Dean demands. "Where are they? I swear to God, Crowley, you had better start telling me something here because I am just about _out_ of fucking patience."

"I'd expect no less," Crowley says with a smirk before offering conversationally, "I've no idea who exactly took them. Could be any one of a group. None of whom are friends of mine, I should mention."

"So you've got nothing?" Dean asks angrily. "Then quit. wasting. my. time!" He snarls before leaning back into the car's interior.

"Oooh, someone's touchy," Crowley comments to Castiel in amusement.

The angel merely scowls in response.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Crowley looks over at the scene of the attack. "I'll see what I can find out downstairs," he offers. "Can't guarantee anything, of course, but you know we demons do love a good brag."

Dean stands upright, slipping a badge into his coat pocket. "Why?" He asks suspiciously.

"Because we're a vain lot, in case you hadn't noticed," Crowley replies with a smirk, intentionally misinterpreting Dean's question.

"Don't screw with me, Crowley," Dean snaps. "I am _not_ in the damned mood. You know exactly what I mean. Why would you want to help us?"

Crowley shrugs noncommittally. "Call it a favor amongst friends."

"We're not _friends_, you black-eyed son of a bitch!" Dean shouts furiously.

"Careful, now. You'll hurt my feelings," Crowley replies with a withering glare.

After a moment of meeting Dean's furious gaze head-on, he sighs.

"Very well," he grants. "If you must know, it's in the interest of self-preservation. Whatever these demons are after, they clearly don't know you like I do."

Dean arches a challenging brow.

"Oh, like it or not, I **do** know you, Dean," Crowley assures gruffly. "See, these demons must mistakenly believe they can threaten your family as a way to control you. But that's a lot like tossing a leash round the neck of a crocodile. Not exactly going to work out the way they're anticipating, now is it? Because you, Dean? You're all _teeth _whenever baby brother or wifey are in danger. And with both being threatened at the same time? _Well_..."

Crowley smirks and tilts his head as he trails off. He considers Dean's heated expression for a few seconds before continuing.

"Were that pair to meet with an untimely demise, I've no doubt that you'd gladly march right back into Hell to take revenge on anything even remotely resembling a demon. Personally, I'd like to avoid having an irrational and enraged Winchester tearing apart my little corner of the world."

He leans closer, smiling as he adds, "You do tend to get a bit scary. And while the very thought of you in a crazed bloodlust sends my heart aflutter, I'd frankly hate the competition," he jokes before standing back. "So, what d'you boys say we try and end this as quickly and uneventfully as possible?"

"I'm not dealing with you, Crowley," Dean grinds out in barely concealed rage.

"Good thing, love, 'cause I'm not offering a deal," he assures with a raise of his eyebrows.

He vanishes from view as quickly as he came, leaving Dean and Castiel to exchange suspicious looks.

Dean finally shakes his head and closes the Impala door. He doesn't have time to worry about Crowley's possible ulterior motives. He is far too involved in worrying about you and Sam.

"Let's go," he says impatiently, turning and setting out toward the scene of your abduction.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thoughts? Comments? Love? Hate? Could you see and hear it as you read? Any favorite lines or parts? Anything make you laugh? Or wibble? Want me to hurry and post more? Be sure to let me know! Your feedback is my writing fuel! :-)


	3. Darker Still

You open your eyes slowly, only to recall that there's not really any use in doing so. There's nothing to see. You're still in the dark. Still trapped.

And still cuddling with a decidedly naked Sam.

Given how crappy you're feeling, you can't bring yourself to be freaked out by the arrangement. You sigh at the comforting sensation of Sam stroking your hair. You burrow closer into the warmth of his much larger body. Thank God the man is like a gigantic radiator because it is freaking _freezing_ in this place. Your back half is left exposed to the chill air and your one side is resting on the frigid concrete floor, but at least your chest, stomach, and the fronts of your legs are warm.

You realize that things are likely to get even more awkward in the near future. While Sam does have an awful lot of self-control, he's still a guy (in the middle of a pretty lengthy dry spell). You're still a girl. The two of you are pressed up against one another buck-naked. And while _your_ body gives no outward indications each time your mind follows that natural train of thought, _his_ body most definitely _WILL_.

With that in mind, you pay extra attention to his body language. If he starts to pull away, you'll be sure to release him as quickly as possible, lest this situation get any more embarrassing for the both of you.

The pain in your shoulder is singing soprano, but the song has changed. It's not the same 'I'm-in-a-wholly-unnatural-position' tune as it was before. You hesitantly lift your shoulder, testing the pain and finding, to your great relief, that it does not intensify with movement.

"You awake?" Sam asks quietly, though in the silence of this place, it seems like a shout.

You smirk against his chest. "_Christo_."

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. "Not possessed."

"Oh...so that was _you_ wrenching my shoulder back into place without any warning?" You joke.

"If I warned you, you'd have tensed up," he insists through a yawn. "Then it would have been harder and more painful to set it right."

"How long was I out?"

"I don't know exactly. Not long. Maybe...a couple of hours? Hard to tell in here. I woke you up a few times for concussion-quizzes. You don't remember?" He asks in amusment.

"Nope. I'm too used to them by now," you laugh.

Sam gives a '_hmm_' of agreement.

After a moment and the tightening of Sam's embrace, you realize that you're shivering pretty severely.

"Man, did it get even colder in here?" You ask.

"No. Your body temperature dropped while you were out."

"Oh. This officially sucks."

"Yep."

"I'm guessing Dean knows we're gone by now."

"Definitely."

"He's _pissseeeddd_..." You breathe and can't help but smile at the thought. A furious Dean is quite a sight to behold. You take a moment to fantasize about him finding the bastard that clubbed you upside the head.

"To put it mildly." Sam assures with a chuckle.

"I wonder how long it'll take before he finds us."

"If he gets his hands on any of the demons responsible, it won't be long. The part that's going to take him some time will be tracking them down."

"Well, while we're waiting..."

You grudgingly abandon the warmth of Sam's body and turn to climb to your feet. You don't make it far into the motion before Sam snags your hand.

"What are you doing?" He asks worriedly.

"Gotta check this place out, see what we're dealing with. There could be an unlocked door ten feet away and we wouldn't have a clue."

"Wouldn't that be nice." Sam mutters glumly.

"We have to find out what we can about where we are, Sam. See if there's any way to get out. And you're not gonna be able to do it," you remind.

Sam growls in frustration. "I don't like it." He declares.

"I know," you answer with a smirk and give his hand a sympathetic pat.

"Keep talking to me," he insists. "We'll count off - that way we both know how far you're going."

"Got it," you agree as you climb to your feet.

You try not to make a sound when that persistent dizziness rears its ugly head again. Your stomach is churning angrily at the lack of food, bringing on some majorly intense nausea.

You push through it, determined to search for anything that can help your current situation. Reaching out blindly, you find the wall with your hand.

"Walls are metal all the way up. Big rivets." You inform him as you follow a seam.

You give it an experimental knock. The thunk sound that comes in response tells you both that there's no use trying to get through the sheets of metal. Either it's way too thick, or it's surrounded by earth.

With your hand on the wall as a reference point, you set out.

"One."

"Two." He answers.

"Three."

"Four."

"Five."

"Six." His growing tension is plain in his voice. You hear the telltale rattling of his chains as he undoubtedly returns his focus to trying to get free.

"Seven."

"Eight."

"Nine."

"Ten."

"Eleven...the walls are curved. I think the room is round," you comment. "Like Bobby's panic room used to be."

"Twelve. Maybe it's a bunker of some kind."

By the count of 285, you're back where you started. You found a door, but there was no handle, hinges, or window. The edges were flush with the walls with barely any gap. There would be no way to pry or force it open from the inside.

You resist the urge to collapse beside Sam. Instead, you set out again, this time to explore the interior of the room. The space is almost completely empty, aside from a small metal piece you manage to pry up from the floor. By the feel of it, you guess it may have been a part of shelving. It's not very thick, but it's something.

You return to Sam at the new count of 492 and gracelessly drop down onto the floor next to him.

"Here," you say with a smile, reaching out until you find his hand and placing the metal in his grasp. "Don't say I never got you anything."

"Thanks. It's just what I wanted," he jokes dryly.

You move to get comfortable against the wall, but your stomach chooses that exact moment to revolt against you. As fast as you can, you scramble away from your designated resting place.

Sam calls your name in panicked confusion, but his unspoken question is answered by the sounds of you retching.

Nothing comes up but saliva and, eventually, bile. There's nothing _to_ bring up. That fact doesn't stop your stomach from attempting to turn itself inside out.

When you're finished, you groan and slowly crawl back to Sam, feeling weak and shaky.

"You okay?" He asks as he pulls you close and guides you to curl up against him again.

"Not really," you admit miserably.

"Maybe that head wound is worse than we thought," he says fearfully. "Shit. It's not like I can check your vision... How are you feeling otherwise? I _know_ you're still dizzy, even if you're not saying anything. I could hear it in your steps."

You sigh and roll your eyes. Damned Winchester hearing.

You bite your bottom lip, your eyes straining to study his face despite the uselessness of the effort. If you don't say anything, he's going to continue worrying that you've got a potentially fatal bleed going on inside your skull. But if you _do_ tell him, he's going to have a whole new reason to worry...

"Tell me." He orders knowingly.

"What?" You ask in surprise.

"You're mulling something over. I can hear the wheels spinning in that head of yours. Whatever it is that you don't want to worry me about, spill it."

"_Winchesters_..." you grumble.

You frown as you consider your options. Would there be any point at all in saying it's nothing?

"The stubbornness is genetic, too," Sam assures determinedly. You know without any light that he's giving you a serious bitch-face. "I'm not going to drop this. So? Come on. Out with it."

"I think... I might... I mean... it's _possible_ that..."

"Possible that...?" He prompts impatiently.

"I might sorta be...pregnant." You admit grudgingly.

You feel his body go rigid as a he exhales sharply in shock.

He stops breathing for several seconds, and when he starts again, his breaths are faster than normal.

Yup. That was it. He just switched to DEFCON-1.

"Have you taken a test?" He asks in a strained voice.

"Umm...yeah?" You answer reluctantly.

"AND?" He presses.

You know his eyes must be close to popping out of his head at this point.

"And...it was positive." You admit, which earns a deep gasp from Sam. "But I only took the one. I was going to take more after we got back home."

"_That's_ what was in the bag!" He declares in sudden realization. "How...? What...? When...? Did you...?" He tries, but the questions keep fighting for precedence in his mind. He finally settles on, "How far along?"

"Not very. I mean...I'm almost a month late, but-"

"A _month_?" He repeats in astonishment.

You scowl and sit up, turning to face him (for no damned reason because you sure as hell can't see him.)

"Hey, buddy, don't you go getting all judgy with me. Lots of things can make a girl late. Stress, for one. And, in case you hadn't noticed, we don't exactly have a carefree life. But Dean and I are pretty careful...most of the time."

Well, aside from when Dean is feeling exceptionally frisky.

And a few times when one of you almost died.

And, come to think of it, the timeline fits for when you gave Dean the 'gift' from his teenaged self. That time had been...WOW. Yeah, that naughty nurse costume had been incredibly well-received.

You scowl, wondering if teen-dream-Dean set you up. His younger selves had been pretty damned baby-crazy.

"That means you're...what? About 8 weeks along already? Oh my God..." He breathes.

The rattle of his chains clues you in to the fact that he's running his hand through his hair and gripping his forehead anxiously.

"Does Dean know?" He asks reluctantly, getting the feeling that he won't like the answer.

"No. Which is part of the reason I wasn't going to say anything to you yet. But hey, it means Dean won't have this to worry about, on top of everything else." You try to focus on that part, try to find something good about this whole situation.

"How's your stomach?" Sam asks suddenly, and you squeak in surprise when his hands start running over your torso in search of any injuries. "Does it feel like they hit you there at all?"

"I didn't get hit in the stomach. I'm fine, Sam," you insist.

"Yeah?" He asks skeptically. "Are you sure about that? Because your dislocated shoulder happened while you were knocked out - probably when they were dragging us in here or taking our clothes."

Your eyes widen at the truth of that statement. You hadn't accounted for any additional hits you might have taken while unconscious.

And now both of you are frantically searching your abdomen for signs of injury - four hands fumbling blindly.

"Does anything feel tender? Any bruising?" He asks nervously.

"No... Nothing," you finally answer in relief a moment later.

His hands still suddenly, his entire body tensing up, and you can almost hear the shift in his concern.

You grip his hand in yours, assuring sincerely, "Before you start freaking out, they didn't get _friendly_ with me while I was out cold, either."

Sam's body literally sags in relief as both fears are laid to rest. The baby is safe and you weren't raped. It's the best news he's gotten since this whole fiasco started.

Unbeknownst to you, however, his thoughts take a dangerous turn.

The baby is safe. You haven't been raped.

_So far._

Sam is realizing that, should the demons come back with precisely those items on their agenda, there won't be a damned thing he can do to stop it. They did leave you unchained, after all... What if it's because they plan on coming back to _take_ you?

Sam struggles to breathe past his growing terror for your safety.

"Come here," he says hoarsely after a long moment and pulls you in for a tight hug. He kisses your brow and shakes his head.

Despite the awkward factor, you smile warmly when his large hand rests over your belly.

"We've gotta get you out of here," he declares with trademark Winchester determination.

You frown at his choice of words.

"We've gotta get us _both_ out of here, Sam."

"_You_ both," he corrects, and you swear the darkness gets just a bit darker in response to his thoughts.

"Sam? Whatever is going on in that bull-headed brain of yours? You squash it _right the hell now_." You order. "You're not taking any stupid risks to save me just because I'm knocked up. Got it? We're getting out of here together or we're not getting out at all."

Sam grunts in reply, but otherwise remains silent.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** What d'ya think? I adore writing protective, platonic (but still hot, naked, and chained up) Sam. Any favorite lines or parts? Could you imagine it clearly as you read it? That's pretty important to me, in case you hadn't caught it in my numerous past A/Ns. LOL

Be sure to let me know what you think! Seeing your reviews really helps speed up the frequency of my updates. I'll be working on the next chapter today and tomorrow - checking in with Dean on his mission to find you and Sam. ;)

**A/N 2:** Thank you to the awesome and amazing cajuncanuck, Anne, ritournelle, italiankutie57, rizlow, KeepCalmAndDoItLikeAFanGirl (great name, BTW), J. L. Harp, Yui, BossyBeast, athiusa, and an unsigned Guest for your reviews! I really appreciate hearing your thoughts!


	4. Sands through the Hourglass

The bar appears to be the same as any other rundown, gritty, overcrowded hell-hole. The difference, however, is that this place takes the phrase 'hell-hole' a bit more literally. The average human would never be aware of that fact.

At least, not until the door swings open to reveal none other than Dean Winchester himself.

"Evening," he calls with a dangerous smile, ensuring that every suddenly-beetle-black eye in the place falls on him in recognition.

The possessed shell of a woman to his left has barely opened her mouth to speak before the barrel of his shotgun is leveled directly in front of her nose.

Her eyes widen in surprise. She only meets Dean's irate gaze for a fraction of a second before taking a shotgun blast point-blank to the face.

Dean is moving instantly, stepping into the swarm of chaos. He alternates between his gun and the demon-killing blade, slashing and blasting through the ranks with his angel at his back.

Castiel is guarding over his currently-murderous mortal friend and smiting demons only when it becomes necessary. They do need information, after all. This will be the third demon-nest they've cleared and they have no leads so far. Given Dean's growing desperation, Cas keeps a careful eye on him, ensuring that Dean will be once again be able to switch off before there is no one left to interrogate.

Some of the demons get it worse than others. It all depends on the thought in Dean's mind at any particular moment. When he is focused solely on the task at hand, on his goal, he is fast, methodical, and efficient.

When he recalls the last time he saw you and Sam - smiling and offering him promises of pie as you walked out the door, or the sheer glee in Sammy's eyes whenever he found something he'd been researching for, or the way you looked curled up naked in his arms... Well.

In these moments, things get messy. In these moments, Dean does not go straight for the kill. He uses fists and boots, elbows and knees. He takes the time to break bones. To slice ligaments. To inflict pain. In these moments, the demon-blade is used for viciously slashing at stomachs and calves and faces, for severing limbs and - eventually - heads.

Dean's body practically _hums_ with the violence pounding in his veins. He sees red. Merciless, unrelenting, pitiless, maddening RED. But still, his hands are steady and sure.

When the waves of blinding rage recede, Dean is standing amid a sea of blood and bodies.

He struggles to slow his breathing, to come back to reality. He is relieved to see a few of the demons are still moving around, trying to crawl toward the exit and away from him.

If the condition of Cas' trench-coat is any indication, Dean knows that he must be a mess. He glances down at his hands, then to his clothing. He is covered in blood and gore. Given that all of it belongs to demons - the same breed that is currently in possession of his entire _world_ - he is glad for the mess.

He stalks over to the closest demon, rolling it over onto its back and pressing his blade to its throat.

"Where are they?" He snarls.

"Who?" The demon wheezes.

Dean brings his fist down furiously across its face with his fingers curled around the hilt of the blade.

"Wrong answer, douchebag!" He screams. "Where are they?"

"We don't know!" The demon insists. "Nobody knows. Nobody topside, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean? The fuckers who took them went back to Hell? Huh? Answer me!"

"The ones that took'em are already _dead!_"

Dean flinches at those words. "Who killed them? And if they're already dead, where the hell are my brother and wife?"

The demon sneers up at him. "Their _boss_ killed them. They took your pain-in-the-ass brother and your bitch, they did what they were ordered to do, but then they got their dumb asses killed for the effort. Some bonus, huh? But it serves its purpose."

"And what purpose would that be?"

"Guarantees you'll never find out what happened. That you'll spend the rest of your miserable life looking for them. Wondering. _Imagining_." The demon laughs even as blood gushes from its mouth. "It's fucking _beautiful_."

Dean's rage is fast on its way to reaching another crescendo. "Who gave the order?"

"A fan of your friend, Crowley."

"_Crowley_ had something to do with this?" Dean demands.

The demon laughs even harder. "No, he missed that opportunity."

"I want a _name_."

"I don't have one. But even if I did? I'd die before I gave it up."

Dean swiftly brings the blade up through the demon's jaw and into his skull.

"Good to know," he comments as the demon's life energy pulses and flickers out.

The conversations with the other two remaining demons go about the same. No additional details are provided. No names. No location. No closer to finding you and Sam.

Dean barely notices Castiel transporting them back to the bunker.

With blood-spattered, trembling hands, he pours himself a glass of whisky on autopilot. His mind races. His adrenaline is wearing off, and in its wake, there is exhaustion and weakness. He gulps down the alcohol in order to ignore those useless sensations.

"You need to eat, Dean. And rest." Castiel says cautiously, not wanting to draw an outburst from the man.

"Not hungry. Not tired." Dean answers distractedly, pouring another tall glass and quickly downing it. He's not drinking to get drunk or to forget, not to savor the taste. He's _medicating_.

"Dean," Cas sighs. "You cannot keep going like this. It has been three days. You need-"

The angel watches, not entirely surprised, as Dean spins to face him and throws his glass at the wall as hard as he can. It shatters on impact, much like Dean's tenuous hold on his anger and frustration.

"I _KNOW_ IT'S BEEN THREE DAYS! I _KNOW_ THAT! YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME HOW LONG IT'S BEEN!" He roars, red-faced and beyond livid. "I'm counting the _minutes_ here, Cas! What the fuck do you expect me to do? Huh? You think I'm gonna go sit down and enjoy a big meal, maybe kick back and watch a movie till I nod off? I _can't_ eat! I _can't_ fucking sleep! Not while they're still out there! Do you understand? I _CAN'T!_"

Castiel tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. His eyes soften sympathetically and pleadingly as he studies the mortal man.

And it is such a blatant and effective mimicry of Sam's puppy-dog eyes that it almost reduces Dean to tears.

"Leave me the hell alone, Cas!" He warns, though his voice has lost a great deal of its strength.

The angel can only watch as he turns and stalks out of the room.

**-SPN-**

"How long do you think it's been?" You whisper weakly.

"I'm trying really hard not to think about it," Sam answers honestly.

"Oh," you sigh.

You both know very well that it's been days by this point.

The two of you have been passing the time sleeping in shifts and talking for undoubted hours on end. It is becoming more and more difficult to distract yourselves from the passing of time.

To your amusement - because, seriously, at this point you were done with embarrassment - Sam's mind had eventually wandered down the inevitable nudity-guided path.

The first time it happened, he released his hold on you as if he'd been burnt. His panicked reaction to his traitorous body's interest in your naked form was severe enough to send you into hysterics. You tried to reign in your laughter, but seriously, the way he recoiled and flung himself backwards, you'd have thought the guy had put his hand on a stovetop.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He offered so earnestly, you had to force yourself to stop laughing and reach over to take his hand.

"It's fine, Sam," you assured.

"It's not. Like, _at all_," he insisted. "You're Dean's wife. Dean's _pregnant_ wife. I mean, that alone should be enough to prevent... _this_... from becoming an issue."

"Saaammm," you groan. "It's not a big deal. Don't start chugging the Guilt-orade. It's gonna happen. It's unavoidable. Hell, if you had any way of knowing just how fast _my_ mind traveled down that road when we first got into this mess, you'd be giving yourself a gold medal right now for restraint. You'd also be realizing why Dean and I get along so well. But it's just a _thought_. Nothing else. We're not _doing_ anything about it. No need to break out the self-hate. Okay?"

Sam huffs petulantly in response and you laugh again.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I'd probably be offended if this never came up. And I'd be wondering about your sexual preferences. I mean, I'm a chick, you're a dude, we're naked and laying together. I would have to be _seriously_ fugly for you not to take the next logical mental step."

Despite himself, Sam laughed at that. "You're not 'fugly,' believe me. I've seen fugly."

"And neither are you," you answered with a smile. "I'm afraid this is just a side effect of us both being so damned hot. Neither one of us can tone down the sexy."

Sam chuckles and replies, "When you make statements like that, I don't have to wonder why you and Dean get along."

"We good?" You ask, and wait for his grunt of agreement. "Good. I'm freezing my ass off over here. If you need to face the other way, that's fine, but if it's all right with you, I'd rather not sit here shivering."

Sam had reluctantly shuffled around so that he was facing the door.

You moved to take your place behind him and pressed the length of your body against his back, thankful for the return of any warmth you could leach from him.

That had been a long while ago. Maybe hours, maybe a day, maybe days. You have no idea. None. There's no way to measure how much time is passing. Regardless of how long ago the incident had taken place, it was the last time either of you had a good laugh.

Conversation is dying down as the situation worsens.

The joint growling of your stomachs is like a duet now, but you're both careful not to mention food. The very thought of getting out of this place and having Dean make you one of his freaking _orgasmic_ burgers is nearly enough to drive you insane. You're whole body is perpetually trembling with hunger.

And the thirst? _God_. You would give your right arm for a great, big, Sam-sized bottle of water - the kind he downs after coming back from a run.

Well, maybe not the whole arm.

Possibly a finger.

_Definitely_ a pinkie.

You consider it for a moment before nodding to yourself. If the demons were to open that door right now and make that offer, you'd cut off your pinkie without blinking.

The only mercy of the decided lack of food and water is that it makes the issue of other bodily functions almost nonexistent. Which is a good thing, considering Sam's inability to move more than a few feet from the wall. There are certain conversations you never in your life had planned on having with your brother in law. Sharing is not necessarily caring when it comes to discussing digestive tracts.

You can't help but obsess over what all of this is doing to your baby. Is it okay in there? Is it getting what it needs? Even if you do manage to make it out alive, will you lose the baby? Or will its long-term health and development be adversely effected by this rough start?

You sigh at the fact that the suffocating silence is allowing your terror to swell with each passing moment.

Sam is asleep, once again facing you, and he's lightly snoring.

You're bored as hell, but you can't sleep. It's your watch, for starters. But also, you're worrying about Sam's thought process. He's made a few more troubling statements regarding getting you and his future niece or nephew out of here safely. It's like he's reached some kind of decision in his mind already, and a Winchester with their mind made up is a dangerous thing.

Even though you know it's useless to do so with the warding that must be present, you pray that Dean is able to find you soon.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thoughts? Comments? Love? Hate? Any favorite lines or parts? Want me to post more soon? ;-) Be sure to let me know what you think!

Thank you for the lovely reviews, athiusa, rizlow, Yui, HeavenlyKitten, whimsicalbarwench, J. L. Harp, BossyBeast, ritournelle, NAWag1r, and an unsigned Guest! You all are the reason this next part is up so fast.

NAWag1r - (gasp!) Chickie, I didn't even know you read this series past Part 1, Clear the Area!


	5. Fall

Things are getting progressively worse for you and Sam. Neither of you are mentioning the overwhelming exhaustion or the excruciating headaches, muscle cramps, and kidney pain.

But you both know.

You each realize that you are in deep trouble now. You are both on your way out, you're just at different stages of the journey.

Sam is sitting up with his back against the wall. In response to his fading strength and alertness, he is holding you close, arms locked tightly around you like a fortress as you rest across his lap. He is in survival mode. His behavior is reminiscent of a wounded animal. His eyes are relentlessly, _uselessly_ scrutinizing the darkness for any hint of an approaching threat. His body is tense and ready to fight if necessary. It is as if he is afraid that you will slip away if he drops his guard for even a second.

He might not be too far off the mark with that fear, considering the alarming way your mind keeps wandering, the way you keep losing track of reality.

On more than one occasion, you have caught yourself thinking that you were safe in bed with Dean, that this whole situation had just been a nightmare. Those instances were pretty epically awkward.

Sam's anxious throat-clearings alerted you to the case of mistaken identity, resulting in the subsequent 'oh shit!' realization that you had been dishing out contented sighs, naked-nuzzling, and mild groping to the wrong brother. Any one of those things would most definitely have resulted in Sam distancing himself physically, were he _at all_ willing to be driven from his defensive position by something as currently-inconsequential as modesty or embarrassment.

You offered mumbled apologies which he distractedly accepted. You muttered that you had simply nodded off and lost track of where you were.

The problem is, you didn't just 'nod off.' You're not falling asleep - you are fading away. Your body and brain are short-circuiting as a result of the lack of water. Things are shutting down. Natural processes necessary to life are grinding to an agonizing halt.

With increasing frequency, you just flat out have _no clue _where the hell you are, what is happening, why you're in so much pain, or who the naked man is that's holding you. You played it off the first few times it happened, hoping that Sam wouldn't notice your body going rigid and breathing quickening in panic.

He noticed it.

He notices everything.

Confusion and disorientation are getting worse for you by the minute. Your health is deteriorating faster than Sam's, given your pregnancy, the amount of vomiting you did in the beginning, and the fact that you don't routinely drink two or more gallons of water a day like he does.

In a moment of lucidity, you whimper, take his hand in yours and squeeze it tight, conveying your growing terror. He grips your hand tighter in reply.

You're almost out of time.

**-SPN-**

Kevin holds his tongue, given the circumstances, but he is most definitely hating the idea of summoning Crowley into the bunker. The fact that it is being done in the dungeon area is little comfort. He hangs back by the door, not wanting to interact with the slimy bastard, but still desperate to hear what he has to say. Kevin is worried, too, after all. He wants you and Sam back safe and sound. You're family.

Dean finishes the summoning spell and the tension in the room is nearly overwhelming as they all wait.

After a brutally long moment, Crowley appears along the back wall, scowling at the devil's trap disapprovingly.

"Where's the love?" He asks in feigned insult.

"I'm gonna ask you this, Crowley," Dean says in a voice strained by fury. He is looking down at the demon-knife in his hands, studying its blade intently and deliberately as he continues. "And I want a straight answer."

Crowley arches a brow at the menacing quality of the hunter's appearance, along with the not-so-subtle threat.

"I'm all ears," he assures with a fake smile. "Ask away."

"What did you know about this attack before it happened, and how were you involved?" Dean asks as his eyes lock with those of the demon.

Crowley purses his lips and squints for a moment before giving a short, dry '_hmmph_' of a laugh.

"Very well," he relents and slides his hands into his coat pockets. "This whole scenario... Kidnapping your two biggest weaknesses, using them against you... It was pitched to me not long ago by a group of my subjects - subjects with loyalties of a somewhat unreliable and fluid nature." He shrugs in disinterest. "I declined. Failed to see the point in kicking a hornet's nest. Didn't give them the approval they were looking for. Evidently, one of them decided to go ahead with their plan regardless."

"And you didn't warn us?" Dean demands before he can consider the ridiculousness of his question.

Crowley enjoys a good laugh at that.

"_Dean_," he finally breathes with a fond smile, eyeing the hunter as one would an adorably naive child. "Come now. Were I to contact you every time someone downstairs hatches a '_death to the Winchesters_' scheme, I'd have time for little else. Besides, as you keep informing me, 'we're not friends'."

"You got names?" Dean presses. "Any of them topside?"

"I've made inquiries," Crowley replies coolly. "Keep in mind, this was not just an attack on your family. It was also an act of treason. Violation of a direct order from their King. As you can imagine, Daddy is not pleased." He glowers for a moment before going on. "I will find the ones responsible. I've my best and most wicked on the hunt. When I know something, you'll know something. After all, I can think of no more fitting punishment than serving the offenders to you on a silver platter."

Dean nods distractedly as his mind races. "You don't think they took them to Hell, do you?" He asks worriedly.

"Not a chance," Crowley assures. "There'll be no more of that nonsense. If anyone tries sneaking through a back door with a living soul, I'll sense it. Installed a new...alarm system of sorts."

Dean rubs his eyes wearily as he sinks down into one of the chairs. "Do you have anything I can work with up here? Did they mention what they were going to do after the abduction? Do you have _anything_ new at all?"

"Well, as it happens, before I was pulled away to come have this little chat, I was in the middle of reviewing the latest reports. Demon gossip, juicy rumors, etcetera."

Dean looks up at him, his eyes suddenly alight with cautious hope. "And?"

"And I'm afraid I've some bad news, some good news, and..." Crowley pauses, jutting his jaw out to the side and squinting thoughtfully before he adds, "...some potentially good, but possibly even worse news. Not really sure how that bit's going to play out just yet."

It takes all of Dean's restraint to wait for Crowley to continue.

"Firstly, the bad news," Crowley finally says. "The ones responsible? They don't want anything."

Dean's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Precisely what I said. They want nothing from you. They took Sam and your little Missus...well, just for the sake of taking them. They intend for the pair to die slowly, painfully, and - most importantly - _permanently_. They're all-too aware of you Winchesters' penchant for failing to stay dead. They've taken steps to prevent any divine interventions - hence your winged friend's inability to locate them."

Crowley pauses, meeting Dean's gaze intensely as he assures, "They're not interested in bargaining. They're not open to discussion. This is punishment. Payback for being a thorn in the side of all demon-kind. They want to _**hurt**_ you, Dean. Do you understand? They want to rip out your heart figuratively, before they do it literally. And they know the fastest way to do that is to target your family. They are leaving you to wallow in the knowledge that - even though Lurch and lover-girl are, in fact, both currently still _alive_ - you will not be able to save them in time. Cruel? Yes. But it does provide the level of torment they hope to achieve."

Dean fights to keep his soaring panic under wraps, but his heart is thundering in his chest. Radio silence. No way to strategize. Nothing to fight. He has no move. His opponent has removed all pieces from the board.

"You said there was good news?" Dean asks hoarsely.

"_Ah_. Yes," Crowley recalls. "Well, the good news, I'm afraid, is made far _less_ good by the bad. It seems your better half is up the duff."

In response to Dean's confused stare, he arches a brow and elaborates.

"She's in the family way," Crowley tries, squinting as he searches for any hint of comprehension on the hunter's face. "True to your name, you've squirreled away a nut for the winter - is this ringing any bells? No? It means there's a dollop-of-Dean making itself at home in her gut as we speak."

"_What_?" Dean gasps.

"There we are. All caught up. So good of you to join me," Crowley teases with a smirk, greatly enjoying the thunderstruck expression on Dean's face.

"She's..._pregnant_?" Dean breathes in astonishment, establishing a white-knuckled grip on the table's edge to steady himself.

"Mazel tov." Crowley replies dryly.

Castiel struggles to appear unaffected by the announcement, but Crowley's eyes narrow on him knowingly.

With a wicked smile, Crowley adds, "And if you don't believe me, look no further than the angel on your shoulder for confirmation."

"Cas?" Dean manages weakly as his imploring eyes turn to the angel.

Castiel glares at Crowley before returning his attention to Dean. He so wishes that he could spare his friend this pain. "What he says is true, Dean. She is with child," he confirms quietly.

Dean's instantly tearful eyes widen in response to those words before his expression becomes deeply pained. He is overwhelmed by...excitement and horror, hope and helplessness.

Every time his heart and mind attempt to experience the joy this news should rightfully bring, it is cut down mercilessly by the knowledge that you are in the hands of demons. Demons that he already knows have beaten you with a damned _crowbar_. And that was in public. They've had you somewhere private for three days.

Three. Days.

Doing God only knows what.

He fights to hold it together, but he can feel himself unravelling, fraying and falling apart at the seams. He brings a trembling hand to his mouth as he recalls every time he's seen you wounded, every time he's heard you cry out or scream in pain. And then he recalls the same for Sammy.

He doesn't know what to do. He's lost and terrified and just so damned _tired_. His heart fractures at the realization that he could very well lose you both.

No - he could lose all _THREE_ of you.

Dean's pretty sure he's about to pass out.

"_Jesus Christ_..." bursts desperately from his lips, followed closely by a loud, strangled sob that he cannot hope to suppress.

The sound of it - the utter heartbreak and anguish - is difficult to hear. The wrongness of such a broken sound coming from _Dean_ cuts through the other three men, sending chills up the spines of mortal, demon, and angel alike.

Dean leans forward to put his head between his knees as his vision tunnels. His breaths come in fast, ragged bursts as he breaks down. He grips his head in both hands, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the terrifying scenarios playing out in his mind. The image of you from so many months prior comes back to threaten his sanity. _Strapped to the rack, shrieking and crying and begging, disemboweled..._

In response to the memory, and the possibility that it is happening again while you are _pregnant_ with his _child, _Dean screams through gritted teeth. He rocks in place and wraps his arms around his head, shielding himself from the thought as he pleads incoherently for none of this to be real.

Castiel watches remorsefully as Kevin rushes across the room.

The young prophet ignores his hatred and fear of Crowley in order to come to Dean's aid. He crouches beside the distraught hunter, rubbing his back and offering quietly, "Dean? Breathe, Dean. Just _breathe_. Come on. It's gonna be okay, man. She's with Sam. They're gonna be fine. You're gonna find them."

Dean reaches out blindly and grips Kevin's forearm in reply - simultaneously conveying his acknowledgement, acceptance, and gratitude for the comfort.

Crowley's amusement with this situation has dissolved completely. He looks away, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Were it not for the devil's trap and other wards on this room, he would have made a swift exit. It seems profane somehow to bear witness to this moment. It is not meant for his eyes. Dean's breaking point - something Crowley, himself, has tried to find numerous times in the past - is something he quickly realizes that he never wanted to see.

The righteous man, as it turns out, can still fall.

"Why didn't she tell me?" Dean finally finds the strength to ask, though it is unclear to whom he is directing the question.

Castiel answers, feeling his friend deserves a response from someone. "I do not think she knew for certain. I believe it was her intention to purchase additional tests at the store. She did not trust the first result. That was the reason she volunteered to accompany Sam."

Kevin stands up straight, keeping his hand on Dean's shoulder to offer support.

"But you knew." Dean says.

"Yes," Castiel admits. "I could sense the child almost immediately."

"The _chil_-" Dean starts to repeat in a gasp for air, but stops. He closes his eyes and is thankful for Kevin's tightening grip on his shoulder. It is keeping him grounded. He swallows hard and fights to find his voice. There is no anger or accusation in Dean's tone when he asks, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I..." Castiel starts, but trails off, glancing at Kevin in uncertainty. "I consulted with someone about the proper course of action. I was informed that it would be wise to 'keep my nose out of' such a personal matter. I did not want to spoil the moment for either one of you."

Dean laughs bitterly at that and nods. Judging by Kevin's sudden tension, he can guess who gave the angel that advice. And Dean can't bring himself to be mad. Cas and Kevin's intentions were good. It just seems that the moment was doomed to be spoiled no matter what.

He reaches up and pats Kevin's hand, a wordless way of telling the kid that he understands, he's not angry, and he's okay now (at least, as okay as he can be in this situation.)

Kevin gets every bit of the intended message and, with a glare to Crowley, returns to his position by the door.

"What's the rest of it, Crowley?" Dean asks, though he's not sure at this point whether he can take any more. "What's the 'potentially even worse' news?"

"Moose is now aware of the little rugrat... _Your_ little rugrat," Crowley replies.

He pauses to watch understanding and renewed worry pass over Dean's expression. He smirks, knowing that Dean can see precisely where this is heading.

"And word is," Crowley continues, "in true Winchester fashion, Sam is strongly considering sacrificing himself for a family member - even if this one's yet to be born. He's thinking of offering a deal to the highest bidder. Which, in this instance, would be any demon able to usher the mother-to-be and her precious cargo safely back home to his beloved big brother."

"No." Dean grinds out dangerously through clenched teeth.

"We could work with this. _**I**_ could work with this," Crowley assures with an appropriately devilish smile. "If Sam does decide to put out the call, as it were, for a demon to talk shop with, he'll essentially be ringing me direct. I'll be the first to know."

"You ain't taking Sam's soul!" Dean snaps furiously.

Crowley gives a bored sigh and roll of his eyes. "_Do_ try to keep up, Dean. Really. I'm not saying I _follow through_ with a deal. I'm saying that my ears are now perked up, eagerly awaiting his demonic-prayers. And should he take that path, it will give me the answer to the million dollar question: Where. Are. They?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Dun, dun, dduuunnnn. Thoughts? Comments? Love? Hate? Did anything in particular strike you? Looking forward to the next update? Let me know! Reviews are like writer-Scooby-snacks.

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	6. Let's Make a Deal

The room is just as still and cold and dark as ever, but you are no longer aware of it. Your consciousness is hanging by a thread. You can feel yourself slipping, and you can't help the tears that are rolling down your cheeks.

You just want to go home. You want to be back with Dean, safe and healthy. You want none of this to have happened. You want to tell him about the baby in some fun, sweet, romantic way. You want to watch his eyes light up and that seldom-seen, ear-to-ear grin spread across his face. You want him to sweep you off of your feet and run around the bunker telling everyone. You want to share that happy, blessed moment with the love of your life.

None of that is going to happen.

Dean is going to find you eventually, but you'll already be dead. It will _destroy_ him. But he will keep going. He always keeps going. All of the heartbreak he has suffered and he still pushes on.

Hopefully, Sam will at least live through this. You don't want him to die and you don't want Dean to face the loss alone. Besides, if he loses his brother, too? You cannot even imagine what Dean's reaction will be...

He will spiral. He will snap. His life will become a repetition of drinking and killing and unchecked suffering.

Your heart aches for him. Funny - you're here dying, and the only thought on your mind is how it will effect Dean. You can't help the small part of you that hopes he won't find out about the pregnancy. He's already going to have enough to grieve for.

"S'm?" You hear yourself croak almost involuntarily.

"Yeah?" He whispers back.

You wheeze against his chest, working up the strength to speak. "...ain't doin' so good..."

"I know. Me either," he answers weakly.

"...miss Dean..." you whimper.

Sam tightens his hold on you and kisses the top of your head. "Me, too."

"S'm?"

"Yeah?"

"...don't think I'm'a last..." You admit brokenly.

You hear Sam sniffle and draw a choppy breath in reply.

"...s'rry...tried..." You insist.

"I know you did," he assures through tears. "I know you did, sweetheart. Just _keep_ trying for me. Okay? You gotta wait for Dean, right? Just a little longer."

You can barely hear his words. You force a weak smile and whisper sincerely, "Love you, Sam."

He chokes back a sob and holds you tighter still. "Love you, too."

"...miss...Dean..." You manage to rasp again before your breathing becomes shallow and you lose consciousness. Your body grows limp in Sam's arms.

He weeps for a moment before taking a deep, steadying breath and whispering, "Then let's get you back to him." He brushes the hair back from your face and rests you on the floor with your back against the wall.

Despite his weakness, Sam clenches his jaw and squares his shoulders determinedly. He has waited as long as he possibly can. You're not going to last much longer. If there is any hope at all for getting you out of this alive, it's now or never. Dean has to understand that, right? He would make the same choice.

Climbing to his feet unsteadily, Sam places himself between you and the door and glares fiercely out into the darkness.

"All right, you demonic sons of bitches. I'm ready to deal."

**-SPN-**

"_I'm ready to deal._"

Crowley smiles as the words echo through his head.

"'Course you are, Sam," he chuckles before pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

He can feel the pull of the offer, can sense Sam's location now. Even as he scrolls through his contacts list for '_Not Moose_,' he is receiving more details about Sam's whereabouts.

Dean answers on the first half-a-ring, offering nothing by way of a greeting beyond a rushed and gruff, "_Yeah?_"

"And a good evening to you, as well," Crowley teases. "Baby brother is singing my tune. I'll send the coordinates shortly." As an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, and Dean? Be sure to pack appropriately. They're not alone."

**-SPN-**

Something overhead smashes, putting Sam on instant guard. He backs up a step closer to you as he listens to the sound of unidentified debris falling to the floor. Unbeknownst to him, the camera that has been monitoring your every move and word has just been destroyed.

The familiar metallic clink of a zippo opening echoes through the room, just before a flame sparks to life in the darkness.

Sam squints and shields his eyes from the first light he's seen in days. He struggles to make out the shape of the man standing at the room's center.

"Moose," Crowley greets with a thoroughly amused smirk. "How good to...see you."

Sam rolls his eyes and scowls, too woozy to bother trying to cover up.

"Crowley. _You_ did this to us?" He demands angrily.

"Oh for crying out loud," Crowley huffs. He clutches his chest in feigned insult. "You wound me, Sam. Here I am, trying to help out a dear friend and-"

"We are _not_ friends." Sam grinds out.

Crowley arches a brow and blinks a few times. After a beat, he shakes his head. "It's genetic, I swear," he sighs. "Fine. Try telling me that again in a few moments," he teases with a wink.

He closes the zippo, and Sam watches in fascination as the flame remains in place, hovering beside the King of Hell. With a bored motion of his hand, Crowley directs the flame to expand, effectively lighting the room's interior and giving Sam his first real glimpse of his prison.

"My, my... Love what you've done with the place," Crowley says with a curled lip as he takes in the grimy, empty space.

"I need a deal," Sam presses impatiently.

"So you said," Crowley replies as he turns his attention back to you pair of naked captives. When he focuses on you, his eyes widen at how obviously ill and possibly dead you are. "She _is_ still breathing over there, right?" He demands as he points to your prone form. "Talk about waiting until the last minute. I'm assuming she's the one you're looking to make a deal for?"

Sam glances down at you with tearful eyes. "She needs to get to Dean and Cas. _Now_. She doesn't have much time. I need you to save her. What do you want for it?" Sam asks, though his voice quavers fearfully on the question.

"_Ooh_. What are you offering?" Crowley asks in intrigue before turning and walking to the side of the room.

"Quit screwing around," Sam growls. "Standard deal?"

"Winchester deals are never '_standard_.' Ten years and I get your soul? Hmm... boring. Think I'll pass." Crowley responds distractedly.

Sam's heart sinks.

This is the only plan he has. It's his 'last resort.' He was really counting on this working out. As the minutes ticked by and time grew short, he took comfort in the fact that at least he would be able to save you and the baby. If he can't pull it off now...?

He is so desperate for this deal that he barely registers what Crowley is doing. He doesn't make the connection as to why the demon is now using a blade to scrape away sections of the painted wards on the walls.

"One year?" Sam counter-offers weakly. "_Please?_"

"Ah, but she's smuggling a Mini-chester, is she not?" Crowley asks with a knowing smile. "That's a two-for. And if you want me to save that little bundle of inevitable-future-pain-in-my-ass, well... I'm afraid you'll have to sweeten the pot."

"With _what_? What do you want?" Sam pleads.

Crowley pauses in his work and meets Sam's gaze intensely for a moment as he takes it into consideration. "I take you. Right here, right now. No waiting period. You forfeit the rest of your miserable life. You come work for me downstairs - no questions asked - and you're a _model_ employee. In exchange, I save Dean's entire family-in-the-making and they go on to lead deliriously happy lives together."

He takes a step closer, scowling dangerously as his voice becomes even more hushed and gravelly than usual.

"But if you try to screw me? If you disobey my orders, go back on your word, or big brother manages to pull you out of Hell? Then wifey and the rugrat die. Painfully, messily, _inventively_. Right in front of Dean. Their lives are part of the deal, after all, and if I don't have what's promised to me, I'll see them repo'd faster than you can say '_how to make Dean Winchester eat a bullet_'."

Sam flinches and looks down at you sorrowfully.

A moment passes in tense silence as Crowley finishes the task of removing the wards. When he is done, he walks over to Sam, studying the mortal man in open curiosity.

"You would really do it, wouldn't you, Moose?" He finally asks quietly. "No way out, no possible redemption, you would still sign the dotted line?"

Sam meets his eyes and swallows hard.

"_Huh_." Crowley breathes, squinting up at the man and jutting out his jaw. He nods to himself, his eyes widening as he declares in amazement, "You would."

He shakes his head and sighs before turning and walking away.

"Shame, really," he calls over his shoulder as he pulls his cell phone from his pocket and sends a text. "That is one deal I'd be all too happy to make."

Sam's brows draw together as he struggles to follow. "What do you mean? You're not going to do it? Crowley!" He shouts in panic as he pulls on his chains.

Crowley turns to face him as he continues backing toward the door. He shrugs and holds up his hands. "I _would_..." he draws out as if torn. "But I'm afraid there's no need." He flashes a mischievous grin before adding, "We're about to have guests."

On cue, the sounds of a distant fight fill the air.

Sam's eyes widen and he quickly moves back to your side. He crouches down in front of you defensively, picking up the pathetic excuse for a shiv he made from the scrap of metal you found. It's all but useless, but he has nothing else to work with.

As the commotion beyond the door draws closer, Sam can hear that the sounds of pained screams are intermingled with blessedly familiar shotgun blasts and furious shouts.

"_Dean_," Sam breathes in surprise.

He watches in open awe as the door is torn open.

His brother charges into the room, breathing heavily and gripping a weapon in each hand.

"What took you?" Crowley huffs impatiently.

Dean pays him no mind. When his eyes focus on his brother, his hardened expression instantly softens.

"Sammy," he sighs in relief before rushing across the room.

Dean drops to his knees beside his brother. He grips the back of Sam's neck, giving him a quick once-over searching for injuries before turning his attention to you.

His breath catches in his throat at the sight of you. His hands hover in mid-air, as if he is afraid that touching you will confirm his worst fears.

"Is _she_...?" Dean tries tearfully.

"She's still alive. Barely. Is Cas...?" Sam asks, but is interrupted by the familiar sound of the angel arriving in the room.

"I searched the building. The demons have been dispatched. All is clear." Castiel announces.

"Cas - get over here! She needs your help!" Dean calls frantically as he leans over you and cradles your face in his hands. "Baby? Baby girl? Can you hear me?"

You don't bat an eyelash or move a muscle in response.

Dean sobs your name as he pulls you into his lap. "_God_, baby... I'm so sorry. Hang in there. I'm here."

Castiel moves to the floor beside you, placing one hand on your forehead, the other on your stomach.

Dean and Sam (and, okay, Crowley, too) hold their breaths and wait.

After a moment, Castiel removes his hands and turns to Dean.

Dean's entire world is hinged upon whatever he is about to hear.

His body tenses up, preparing for either the worst or best news of his life.

"I have healed them both," Castiel begins.

The brothers immediately sigh in immense relief, leaning into one another for support.

In a far more discrete display of relief, Crowley lets out the breath he's been holding behind them.

"But there is a great deal more to be done," Cas assures gravely. "I can treat the damage caused by the dehydration and malnourishment, but the damage will only reoccur until she is given fluids and sustenance. I will likely have to heal them several times before they are past this. The same will be true for you, Sam," he says, and waits for the man to meet his gaze before placing his hand on his brow.

Sam gasps gratefully as the angel heals him. The deafening roar of pain that he had been enduring recedes to a steady thrum. He knows immediately what Castiel means about having to heal them repeatedly. He can feel his body start to suffer the instant the angel removes his hand.

"Cas?" Dean says, meeting the angel's eyes with tears in his own. "Take us home."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: How are we feeling? Were any tissues needed? Did you adore Sam and Dean in this chapter? Did you have any favorite lines or parts? Are you looking forward to the next update? I had a lot of fun with Crowley. But then, I always enjoy writing his lines. He's just so deliciously evil. LOL

Keep those reviews (writer-Scooby-snacks) coming! :-)

Thank you, thank you, thank you to italiankutie57, ebonywarrior85, whimsicalbarwench, TooEarlyForThis, Kimber Thomas, BossyBeast, rizlow, specialsmiley1315, Yui, and my beloved unsigned guests for the awesome feedback / writing fuel!

**Kimber Thomas** - thank you x a million for the review and the tip! I've never pursued a workshop before and will most _definitely_ be submitting two original Supernatural scripts in May 2015.

**50 Points Guest **- Let me know your name so I can address my future shout-outs appropriately! ;-)

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	7. Promise

Dean is exhausted to the point where his hands are trembling, but he could not care less. The presence of the two sleeping individuals in the room make all of it - all of the fear and heartbreak and helplessness of the past few days worth it. He moves from one to the other, checking IVs and providing any kind of care and comfort he can think of.

The room is all but silent, but it is a good, comforting silence. The kind of silence that comes so rarely in his world. Everything is okay. Everything worked out. Now, all he has to do is wait.

He can do that. He can wait. Because you're both here. You're both where he can see you and touch you and keep you safe from harm.

Kevin is asleep in a chair by the door. Dean glances over at him and smiles fondly. The kid has been a hell of a big help in the past few hours, eagerly picking up the slack whenever Dean's attention has been solely focused on either you or Sam.

The younger Winchester brother is stretched out on a too-small cot that was brought into your room. Similarly to Kevin, he refuses to leave until you are awake. It works out, though, having you both in the same place. It makes it easier to give you both the care you need.

Dean moves as stealthily as possible to retrieve the now-cold wash cloth and basin of soapy water from your bedside table. He managed to get you cleaned up for the most part, though he knows damned well you'll probably be determined to take a shower once you're up. He smirks at that thought, greatly looking forward to arguing with you about whether you're steady enough to get out of bed.

As he picks up the basin, his eyes are on Castiel, carefully ensuring that his movements will not disturb the angel in his work.

Castiel is seated beside you on the bed, his eyes closed and hands resting on your brow and abdomen. His grace is working in tandem with the IV, slowly helping you heal and recover.

To get some kind of nutrients into you, Dean has managed to coax a few of those meal-replacement shakes down your throat. He clears away the empty cans and other items from the bedside now and takes them out of the room. When he returns, he finds Castiel sitting up with his hands resting in his lap.

"How's she doin'?" Dean asks quietly.

"She is making progress," Cas assures. "It will be a while longer, but she is on the right path."

"Think she's gonna wake up soon?" Dean presses hopefully.

"I do not think so, Dean," Castiel admits reluctantly. "I can sense her level of exhaustion as I heal her. The child would be enough of a draw on her energy, but with all of the damage she is working to overcome... It is best that she sleeps as long as possible." He sighs and turns his attention to the relieved but weary hunter beside him. "You should take the opportunity to rest now."

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off.

"She will need you when she wakes." Cas reminds determinedly.

Grudgingly, Dean nods and climbs up onto the bed, settling in fully-clothed atop the covers beside you. He may be willing to sleep, but he has every intention of being ready in case you need anything.

He is unconscious the instant his head touches the pillow. Mercifully, he manages to get a good ten hours in before you finally stir.

**-SPN-**

You fight to open your uncooperative eyelids. Even that small action seems like too much work. You can't understand at first where you are, or how you're even aware of your surroundings.

You had been fading out, your life slipping through your grasp.

But now...?

Your eyes open barely more than a slit and the light is too much at first. You feel disoriented and confused, but you need to know what is happening.

When you finally manage to focus on your bedroom ceiling, when you feel the familiar warmth of Dean pressed up against your side, your heart shatters in realization.

You recall Dean's words from a year prior, when he had described the sensation of dying:

"_It was like it all just...slipped away. Everything. Feelings, memories, thoughts, just -boom- gone. And it was dark...but then I woke up. I was in the Impala on this road in the middle of nowhere. Didn't recognize the place at first. What really did it was seeing Sammy. Not now-Sammy - but like a little, scrawny kid Sammy, you know? It threw me off. Took me a minute to recognize it all - to remember where we were. _

_"It was a memory. A good memory. No, shit, a _great _memory. One of the best from when we were growing up. It played out right there in front of me. It was pretty freaking amazing, if I'm honest. But...it wasn't real. I mean, it was, but it wasn't. I could feel him, he was warm and felt alive and solid and everything, but it was just the memory of him from that night. He couldn't answer any questions or interact with me beyond the script. _

_"And that's Heaven. Like a top-forty of your greatest hits. All the memories you really cherish, the things that made you happiest or feel the most loved, you can relive them forever. Only they're on a loop. They can't change."_

You struggle to draw in a choppy breath.

You **died**.

You know it. You slipped away.

Now, you're lost to Dean.

Which means you lost Dean's baby, too.

_Oh, God._

And here you are, in bed with him. And yeah, he feels warm and solid and alive, but it's not real.

It will never be real again.

You can't help the heartbroken whimper that escapes your lips. You don't bother trying to reign in your sobs as you shut your eyes tight and break down.

**-SPN-**

Dean startles awakes and sits up at the sudden sound of you weeping beside him. He leans over you, cradling your cheek in his hand and trying to reign in his panic.

"Baby? Baby, what's wrong? Hey, talk to me. Are you in pain? What is it?" He asks softly, but frantically.

You shake your head and cover your ears, not wanting to hear the 'script,' not wanting his words to drive home the point that he is not really here with you.

Dean's eyes lock with those of the angel sitting at the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong with her?" He demands fearfully.

Castiel places his hand gently on your brow, frowning as he tries to get a read on what is causing your distress.

"She is confused," he interprets. "I believe she is under the impression that none of this is real."

"Not real?" Dean repeats. "What? As in some kind of hallucination or...?"

"As in Heaven," Cas finishes with a sigh as he removes his hand. "She believes that she has died - that you are just a memory. She is...ignoring you."

Dean scowls and arches a defiant brow down at that.

"Oh, I just don't think so, darling. I don't do '_ignored_'," he declares determinedly before leaning down and kissing your lips, effectively silencing your sobs.

You sigh in surprise at the tenderness of his kiss. Your body relaxes and tears slow in response to his touch.

Dean backs away slightly, just enough to roll his forehead against yours and run his hand through your hair.

You keep your eyes closed at first, thankful for the steadying contact, no matter how artificial it may be. Resigning yourself to the fact that this is a memory, but one that you may draw comfort from, you slowly pull away and open your eyes to take in your surroundings.

When you spot Castiel sitting on the opposite side of your bed, you sit up abruptly. While you have numerous memories like this of Dean waking you up from a nightmare, not one of them include Castiel.

Which might mean...

Your eyes search Cas' desperately, seeking a sign that maybe... just _maybe_... things are not as you fear.

Castiel understands your unspoken question. He inclines his head to you with a genuine smile.

You exhale sharply in astonishment before turning your attention back to Dean. You stare up at your love in wide-eyed shock.

The smirk Dean gives is enough to make your heart flutter with cautious hope.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets in a strained whisper.

"_Dean?_" You whisper weakly and your voice cracks on that single, all-important syllable.

"The one and only," he answers, eyeing you adoringly.

Your eyes wander around the room, finally taking notice of the others present.

Sam is standing at the foot of the bed, looking weak and a bit ill, but smiling down at you tearfully. Beside him, Kevin is grinning ear to ear.

"How...? What...? Did I...?" You try, but can't seem to finish a sentence.

Dean takes your hand in his, watching it as he slowly interlocks your fingers before offering quietly, "We got you outta there. You're home. You're safe. Everything's okay now."

Your eyes widen fearfully and, before you can catch yourself, your free hand goes to your stomach.

Knowing all too well the cause for the frightened look in your eyes, Dean leans closer, repeating purposefully and hoarsely, "_Everything_ is okay." With glittering eyes, he brings his hand to rest over yours on your abdomen.

You seek out Cas' gaze over Dean's shoulder. The angel smiles lightly, nodding to you that the child is safe.

And now you're crying for a different reason, wrapping your arms around Dean's shoulders and pulling him closer so that you can hide away in his reassuring embrace.

Dean draws a deep, steadying breath as he holds you close.

"Can you guys-?" He chokes out quietly.

"Just leaving," Sam assures. He waits for you to peer up at him from your hiding place and gives you a dazzling, dimpled, tearful smile. "Glad you're feeling better, sweetheart. That was a close one."

You laugh, nod, and sniffle in reply as you burrow deeper into Dean's arms.

"Sweetheart?" Dean repeats with a teasing smirk as Sam rolls his eyes and walks away. "_Sweetheart, huh_?" He mutters under his breath with a huff of feigned jealousy. You know he's going to have a blast with all of this.

One by one the men take their leave.

Castiel pauses at the door to address Dean. "I will be in to check on her in the next hour or so. Her health is improving greatly. The sleep has done her well." He looks to you before adding, "Call for me if you need anything."

Once the door closes behind him, Dean settles you both back onto the bed. He lets out a sigh that sounds like the release of 4 days of hell. He presses his lips to your forehead, just soaking up the sensation of relief for a while before attempting words.

"Missed you, baby," he finally whispers in that powerful way only he can - cramming so much overwhelming emotion into the span of a few seemingly-simple words.

"Missed you, too," you assure and look up into his eyes lovingly. "Thought I was never gonna see you again. Broke my heart."

"Know the feeling," he answers sincerely. He studies your eyes intensely, finding something there as always, something he latches onto, something that never fails to make the corner of his mouth lift in an adoring half-smile. "So... You have something you want to tell me?"

You grin stupidly in response and he chuckles.

"You already know, though," you mock pout.

"But I want to hear _you_ say it. Makes it real that way," he explains and shifts his head on the pillow, getting comfortable so that he can watch you, so that he can burn the moment to memory.

"Deeaannn...?" You begin with the shy smile he always eats right up.

"Yes, baby girl?" He replies in amusement, struggling to keep his grin at bay.

"Do you, by chance, want to be a Daddy?" You ask coyly and pick at the comforter as a means of avoiding his gaze.

Dean's grin is winning out, but he renews his efforts to keep a straight face.

"You gonna make me one, baby girl?" He asks just as evasively.

You look up at him from beneath a fan of lashes, smiling as you nod.

Dean's mouth is on yours instantly as he rolls you over onto your back. He kisses you deeply and hungrily, then softly and sweetly, then desperately and lovingly. When he finally comes up for air, he looks down into your eyes so intensely, you melt from the inside out. His gaze is so breathtaking, it makes your heart _ache _with love for him.

"There is nothing...absolutely _nothing_ in this world, or any other, that would make me happier," he swears.

You grin up at him and watch in awe as he moves down your body, pushing your shirt aside to reach your stomach. He settles down on the bed, bringing his lips to your still-flat-belly and pressing a sweet kiss there like a promise.

"Hey in there, peanut," he greets in a deep, rough tone strained by emotion.

You melt all over again.

"I'm your Daddy," he explains, and the single tear that trickles down his cheek as he says it is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "It's gonna be a little while before you can come out here and play with me, but that's okay. I don't mind waiting. Besides, you've got a lot to do in there. A lot of growing and getting strong. And when you're ready to come out, I'm gonna be right here.

"I promise, I'm gonna be the best father I can be for you. I ain't exactly perfect..." he assures. His voice cracks on the word, his jaw trembling slightly as his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. You stroke the short hair at the nape of his neck in support as he continues. "...but I will _always_ be here for you and your Mom. So, you just focus on getting bigger, and I'll focus on keeping you both safe."

After clearing his throat and getting a handle on his emotions, Dean leans forward and kisses your belly again before adding quietly, "_Love you_."

You pull Dean back up the length of your body and guide him to lay beside you. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly when you kiss your way down his jaw and throat. He offers no resistance when you undress him, does not make any effort to vie for dominance or control over the situation.

You take your time exploring his body with your mouth, relearning the taste of him, savoring what you had feared lost to you forever. He is warm and solid and real. _Your Dean_. The love of your life and the father of the child growing inside of you. For all those things, you lavish him with the appropriate levels of adoration. And when he can almost take no more of your mouth's wandering attentions, you climb on top of him.

Dean stares up at you in open awe as he slowly removes your clothing. He holds your hips as you ride him slowly, and you drink in every second of the pleasure in his features.

When you both have reached your ends, you lay together, still joined, neither in any rush to separate.

You nuzzle your face against his bare, slightly sweaty chest and smile.

He kisses the top of your head, tracing his fingertips lazily along your back.

"I love you, Dean," you whisper.

"I love you, too, baby," he sighs peacefully.

You lose track of time as you lay in his arms. You are almost asleep when he speaks up again.

You can hear the grin in his voice.

"Sooo... You and Sammy, huh?"

"Oh, God," you groan.

"Naked and snuggled up for three days trying to stay warm... Did you two make it past day one before..._bow-chicka-wow-wow_?" He asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Dean," you sigh.

"Was this just a foxhole thing, '_sweetheart_,' or should I start moving my stuff back to my room?"

"Really?" You ask with a smirk.

"The kid's gonna be awful confused, though..." he muses to himself. "I mean, I'll be what? Daddy / Uncle Dean? That's some serious Jerry Springer shit right there."

You smack his chest and he chuckles in response.

After another long moment, he adds, "At least the last name will still be Winchester, that'll make it a little easier on the kid..."

"Oh, for God's sake," you grumble.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I don't know how, but I found the time to write this AND launch my first original novel in the past few days! :-) Phew! Any favorite lines or parts? Did anything in particular get you right in the feels or make you LOL? Could you see it all? Be sure to let me know what you think!

And check out my book, _Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel_ on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Links on my profile page. Hit me up on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

Thank you ssooooooo much for the feedback, cajuncanuck, Uhlowl22, Yui, athiusa, ebonywarrior85, Kimber Thomas, Aluminesa, Ritournelle, Anne, J. L. Harp, LiviLottie, and unsigned guest!


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